


Après-Ski

by 1electricpirate



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, totally unseasonable winter-sports fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 17:55:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7767559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1electricpirate/pseuds/1electricpirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In theory, it was a brilliant idea: Neither of them had ever done it before, and learning together would be half the fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Après-Ski

In theory, it was a brilliant idea: Neither of them had ever done it before, and learning together would be half the fun.

 

It turns out, though, that learning to ski involves a lot more falling uncontrollably down mountains and landing on your ass than either of them had really counted on.

 

“My _bruises_ have bruises, I swear,” Bitty grouses, bending over gingerly to undo the bindings on his boot. “And I think these boots were designed by some kinda sadist, _ow_.”

 

Jack huffs a laugh, too engrossed in a fight with his tangled poles to contribute. Any sport that needs this much _stuff_ seems a bit ludicrous to him, especially when it all likes to get tangled with itself.

 

“Maybe we shoulda gone with snowboarding,” Bitty muses. “Their boots looked so _comfy_.”

 

“Remember that group next to us?” Jack points out. “They spent even more time on their asses than we did.”

 

“Lord, _yes_ , poor things.” Bitty hisses sympathetically—or maybe its in pain as he pulls his feet from his boots. “You know, I thought after years of spending literal hours in skates on a daily basis my feet could handle anything, but these things could teach the Vikings a thing or two about torture devices.”

 

“I’m sure _Bastian_ would be happy to give you a foot rub if you asked him,” Jack chirps, slanting a smirk over at Bitty as he eases himself down on the bench next to him and starts in on the bindings on his own boots. Bitty flushes bright red to the tips of his ears, which is _brilliant_ and one of Jack’s very favourite things.

 

“Oh, _hush_ , you.”

 

“ _Very good, Eric, ja, ja, beautiful, just beautiful, excellent form, now, pizza slice! Pizza slice!”_

 

“Oh my _god_ , shut uppp,” Bitty whines, punching Jack in the shoulder. “He didn’t talk like that.”

 

Jack snorts. “He really did though.” Their skiing instructor, Bastian, was tall, blonde, had a ski-goggle tan that was oddly attractive, and was _very keen_ on showing Bitty just how to position his hips over his skiis. Multiple times. With his hands. Unnecessarily. If Jack were the territorial type, he’d have been fuming, but mostly he’d just been amused by how flustered it made Bitty and the resultant verbal torrents.

 

Finally managing, with not a small amount of effort, to pull just one of his feet free from the really unbelievably uncomfortable boots, Jack collapses back against the wall, wiggling his toes on the floor. He winces when ice water starts seeping through his socks, but hasn’t got an ounce of energy spare to do something about it. The other boot is just going to have to wait a minute. Or maybe an hour. Could he sleep here? The hotelier seemed very accommodating.

 

Next to him on the bench, Bitty slumps against his side and leans his head—full of staticky, slightly matted hat hair still damp with sweat—on Jack’s shoulder.

 

“Think we’ll actually make it down a slope tomorrow?” he wonders. Jack grunts.

 

“Not sure I’ll make it up to the _room_.”

 

“Lord, look at the two of us. Hopeless!” Bitty laughs. “And you, Mr. Zimmermann. Look at _you_! You are a professional athlete, for crying out loud!”

 

“I feel more like a professional pile of goo,” Jack mutters, rolling his head to rest his cheek on top of Bitty’s hair. It’s—not as pleasant as it usually is. “You need a shower.”

 

“You’re no bed of roses yourself, Zimmermann,” Bitty chirps. Jack can hear the eye-roll in his voice. “Oooh, I just remembered! Sauna!”

 

“Ha, oh yeah, I nearly forgot.”

 

“That _definitely_ sounds more our speed right now than, what was Bastian calling it? _Apres-ski?_ ”

 

“Oh was _that_ what _Bastian_ was calling it? Eh?” It’s weak, but Jack’s nudging elbow helps the chirp get across. This time, Bitty draws back enough so that Jack can appreciate the full force of his eye-roll.

 

“You are ridiculous,” he says.

 

“And you’re the world’s worst flirt, Bits.” Jack lets his vowels go loose, a terrible impression of a southern drawl that never fails to make Bitty laugh with indignant fondness. “ _Bastian, honey, can you just show me again how I’m s’posed to turn?_ ”

 

“Oh my god, you hypocrite! Don’t think I didn’t see you eyeing him up as well, Mr. Zimmermann.”

 

“More like keeping an eye on him and his wandering hands,” Jack says, but he’s (mostly) joking. “Promise me you’re not going to leave me for our skiing instructor, eh?”

 

“Honey, when have I _ever_ been such a cliché?” Bitty darts in with a quick kiss to Jack’s cheek. “Besides, the boys would never let you live that down, and you know I’d never do that to you.”

 

“Hmm, yeah,” Jack chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to Bitty’s hair. “Love you, Bits.”

 

“You too, baby.” Bitty kisses him again and then claps his hand down on Jack’s thigh, squeezing once for good measure. “Right. Get out of that boot, I’m gonna hit the shower.”

 

“Easier said than done,” Jack warns, watching Bitty lever himself up from the bench. “Not sure I can move.”

 

“I’ll be waiting for you in the sauna. Bit of incentive?” Bitty tosses him a wink over his shoulder; Jack flushes, nodding, still delighted by the simple fact of this man and his boundless energy and the easy way with which he manages to make everything _fun_.

 

And also—Well. They don’t get many chances for romantic getaways, just the two of them, and they’ve spent 80% of this one so far in at least 5 layers of clothing each with a (fine, very attractive) Swiss ski instructor doing his level best to _stick a ski-pole in_ , for want of a better metaphor. The thought of Bitty in the sauna, clean and naked and glistening with sweat—Yeah. Incentive is the right word for it.

 

It had taken a _lot_ of negotiating, but finally Bitty had agreed to let Jack foot the bill for this trip in its entirety, with the stipulation that Bitty was in charge of paying for any and all hot chocolate they may require. As a result, the hotel they’re in is— _nice_ doesn’t seem to cover it. Jack _may_ have gone a bit nuts with it, actually, but who knows when he’ll be allowed to shower Bitty in luxury like this again, and it’s one of his very favourite things to do. Bitty’s always just so _enthusiastic_ about nice things, and appreciative of all the small details that those who are accustomed to such extravagances overlook—including Jack himself. It’s nice, having Bitty around to open his eyes to the little things he sometimes takes for granted. He’d raved for an entire ten minutes about the tiny chocolates left on their pillows, and Jack doesn’t even consider that to be a particularly fancy touch.

 

Their room has an embarrassment of riches, including an enormous sunken jacuzzi tub, a frankly ridiculous shower, and a sauna of their very own, equipped, somewhat ingeniously, with a timer so that it would already be warm by the time you got back after a long day on the slopes.

 

Saunas and steam rooms have always been something of a routine for Jack, more a necessity than a luxury, but even right now the thought of the slow, seeping heat is almost heavenly. His body feels like he’s put it through a meat grinder, and _Crisse_ , it’s only day one.

 

Finally free of the boots, Jack hangs them on the warming rack to dry out and, with one last check that their skiis and poles are stored correctly, pads his way to the elevator that takes him to just outside their room.

 

The room is quiet when he lets himself in, the only signs of life being the small heap of Bitty’s snow clothes in the corner and the damp on the air, presumably from Bitty’s shower.

 

Jack sheds his snow gear as efficiently as possible and walks straight into the shower, groaning a bit when the perfectly warm water hits his aching shoulders.

 

“Honey?” Bitty’s voice is slightly muffled by the glass door to the sauna. “Could you grab my water bottle? Think I left it on the sink there.”

 

“Sure,” Jack says, switching the shower off and shaking his hair out. He snatches the water bottle off the sink and then steps into the sauna, shivering a bit with pleasure as the wall of warm, damp air hits him.

 

Bitty is stretched across one of the two top benches, naked as the day he was born, one leg bent at the knee while he flexes the other, stretching out some of the aches and pains of the day. There’s a faint sheen of sweat across his face, his chest, down his arms, and Jack is momentarily floored by the sheer _beauty_ of him.

 

“ _Crisse_ ,” he mutters, shaking his head and pulling the door shut behind him. “Here, catch.”

 

Bitty grins at him as he catches the water bottle and watches lazily as Jack tosses another couple ladles of water on the little stove and climbs up to the bench opposite.

 

“Could get used to this,” Bitty hums happily. “Nice not to have to worry about which gross athlete’s sweat patch I’m sitting in.”

 

Jack snorts. “Your own?”

 

“Ugh, hush. It’s just nice, is all.”

 

“Yeah,” Jack agrees, stretching out along his bench and leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes, just letting the heat seep in. It _is_ nice, just the two of them wrapped in a cocoon of warmth, nowhere to be and nothing to do except to just sit here, _existing_ , worn out and happy and together.

 

Across the little room, Bitty starts shifting around; Jack cracks his eye open and watches him indolently as he stretches out, first pulling his arms across his chest one at a time to release tension in his shoulders, then pulling them over his head to stretch out his triceps. Bitty moves with languorous grace, sliding onto his back and pulling each bent leg to his chest before stretching them individually out and up, foot flexed and leg perfectly straight.

 

Jack is a professional athlete, and he is surrounded everyday by what some may call the peak of human perfection, but Bitty’s athleticism never ceases to amaze him. It’s more than being _strong_ —which Bitty certainly is, almost surprisingly so, given his slight stature. No, more than that, Bitty just _inhabits_ his own body more completely than anyone Jack’s ever known. He’s supple and powerful, and every movement he makes, no matter how mundane, is always perfectly controlled. Jack’s never seen him so much as fumble a pie tin, except after he’s had Shitty pouring tub juice down his throat for several hours, and even _then_ his clumsiness is elegant.

 

Sometimes Jack thinks he could happily just watch Bitty moving around all day and never get bored.

 

“See something you like?” Bitty chirps gently, interrupting Jack’s musing with a sly grin on his face. He’s moved back to reclining in the corner, legs stretched easily along the bench, and Jack knows he’s been caught staring and honestly _could not care less_.

 

“Definitely,” he says, smiling lazily. Bitty chuckles and ducks his head.

 

“Not so shabby yourself, mister,” he says, biting his lip and glancing up at Jack from beneath his eyelashes. A flush of heat floods Jack’s body, and it’s not from the sauna.

 

“Could stand to see some more,” Jack says, surprised at his own daring. Bitty barks out a laugh, full and joyous, and rolls his eyes.

 

“Honey, I don’t think it’s possible to _get_ more naked,” he says, but he sits up and moves so he’s sitting with his back against the wall, legs splayed and feet resting on the bench below, giving Jack an intentional eyeful. Bitty’s wicked smirk as he starts sliding his hands across his sweat-slicked chest is enough to make Jack’s breath catch in his chest.

 

“ _Crisse_ ,” Jack breathes, sitting up as well so he can watch properly without getting a crick in his neck.

 

Bitty chuckles, low and soft, rubbing sweat into his pectorals in slow, considered circles. His hands drift to the cut planes of his abdominal V before trailing back up, massaging up his chest and then down one shoulder and then the other. It’s the most sexual thing Jack’s _ever seen_ , and the warm knot in his stomach drops, turns into tight, twisting heat in his crotch as he feels himself thickening between his legs. He shifts to make room, drawing Bitty’s attention away from, _Crisse_ , lazily circling the sweat around his left nipple to the developing _situation_ in Jack’s lap.

 

Laughing softly, Bitty drops his hand back to his pelvis and bites his lip. Jack’s eyes follow the motion and dip just below where those long, slender fingers rest, where Bitty’s dick is still mostly soft but, Jack thinks, beginning to take interest.

 

“Don’t stop,” Jack urges, low and soft.

 

“Lord,” Bitty says, leaning his head back against the wall and chuckling with a shake. He obliges, though, sliding his left hand up his abs to slick around his right pectoral and over his nipple. Jack knows he’s not particularly sensitive there, just as Bitty knows Jack has a bit of a fixation with them. Bitty indulges him now, pulling at his nipple until it’s a tight little point and switching to circling it slowly with the very tips of his fingers.

 

Jack shifts again, feeling the sweat begin to trickle down his face and back. He’s almost fully hard now, just from watching Bitty touch himself almost innocently for all of three minutes. What this man does to him, it’s almost unreal.

 

Turnabout being fair play, Jack spreads his own thighs on the bench, letting Bitty see fully just how affected he is. Bitty, letting his eyes drag a long, hot path up the length of Jack’s thighs, raises an eyebrow and tugs on his nipple one last time, a _challenge_.

 

Jack huffs a laugh, but he accepts it, letting one hand rub idly through the pool of sweat gathering on his stomach.

 

“Nice,” Bitty murmurs approvingly. Jack thrills at the little morsel of praise and slicks his hand up over his chest, mirroring Bitty’s slow movements. Bitty grins when he realises what Jack’s doing, and Jack watches greedily as his dick twitches with interest. “Hmmm,” Bitty hums, running his hand back down to toy with the tuft of dark golden hair at the base of his dick. “Hot.”

 

“Yeah,” Jack says, letting his legs splay even wider. He rubs his other hand down the length of one slick thigh and back up the inside.

 

“Go on,” Bitty urges, and Jack obeys, wrapping one hand around the base of his dick and squeezing. “Yeah, _good_. So gorgeous, sweetheart.”

 

One long pull up the length of his dick is enough to flick Jack’s switch over from indulgent heat to a more urgent form of _want_ —made only worse when Bitty mirrors him with a slow stroke that brings him, finally, to full hardness.

 

“Jack,” Bitty murmurs, stroking himself again and letting his free hand play with his nipple some more, just for Jack’s benefit. He’s flushed, hair slick with sweat and cheeks bright pink, and Jack wants to lick the glistening beads from his clavicle, wants to push his nose into the puddle of sweat in his navel, wants to turn him over and rub his dick on the slick, graceful curve of Bitty’s sacrum.

 

“Crisse, _Eric_ ,” Jack says. His heart is thudding, and he knows its the heat, knows that they’re pushing it in here, that they’re already dehydrated and this is probably a terrible idea, but moving more than it takes to slide his hand from one end of his dick to the other seems almost impossible.

 

But this is why Bitty’s here—well, one of the reasons, at least. To be able to think straight when Jack’s brain has shut off. Bitty gives himself one last stroke, just the hint of a twist over the head, before dropping his hands away and chuckling throatily.

 

“ _Lord_ , Jack. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

 

Jack shakes his head, reluctant to move, but Bitty stands and takes him by the wrist, urging him up and out of the sauna.

 

It’s a relief, actually; he hadn’t realised just how overheated he’d been until they’re out in the relatively cool air of the shower room. There’s a bench in there, because of course there is, and Bitty leads him to it and pushes him down on it. Jack goes willingly—even if he hadn’t wanted to, his knees have gone a bit wobbly. Sitting is probably a good idea.

 

Bitty grabs one of the fluffy folded towels from the rack and tosses it on the floor between Jack’s legs. It’s testament to how spaced out Jack is that he doesn’t realise Bitty’s intentions until he’s sinking to his knees, that wicked little smirk of his back on his face, his hands kneading up and down Jack’s thighs, careful to avoid the worst of the bruising.

 

“Hey,” Bitty says. “How ’bout we see if we can get some blood back to that big head of yours.”

 

“Haha,” Jack laughs, but it comes out half a moan when Bitty starts nosing into the crease of his thigh, and Jack leans his head back against the cool tiles. “Got any ideas?”

 

“A few,” Bitty teases. If he glances down the length of his nose, Jack can watch the top of Bitty’s golden head as he— _Crisse_ —licks drops of clean sweat from Jack’s pelvis and presses his face greedily into the thatch of hair surrounding Jack’s dick.

 

“Might want to— _hah_ —get on with it,” Jack says, sliding a hand into Bitty’s hair.

 

“Rude!” Bitty laughs, swatting playfully at Jack’s thigh, but he follows it with a kiss to the root of Jack’s cock so Jack _really_ doesn’t mind.

 

Bitty is kind of unbelievably good at this. As far as Jack can tell, he always has been—went from zero to one hundred after his first few tries. (Jack, of course, was a willing participant.) Bitty’s tongue is hot and slick, and he uses it to trail the length of Jack’s dick, lingering and flicking over the slit long enough to drive Jack _insane_ before he fits his mouth over the head and finally, _finally_ sucks.

 

“ _Crisse de câlisse de tabarnak,_ ” Jack groans when Bitty slides his mouth down as far as he can get it, wrapping his hand around what he can’t reach. Bitty pulls back up, just a hint of a twist in his wrist, until the head of Jack’s dick is just resting on those gorgeous pink lips, just for long enough for Bitty to toss a coquettish smile up at Jack before he swallows him back down.

 

Jack’s fingers tangle in Bitty’s hair, riding the movement of his head as he repeats the motion, again and again, a long, deliberate tease. “ _Ohhh ouais, comme ça. Eric—ta bouche—”_

With one last suck, Bitty pulls off, wiping spit and and sweat and precum from his lips with the back of his hand. “Feel like I’m doing all the work down here,” he says with a leer. “Touch yourself for me?”

 

Desperate to do anything to get that sweet mouth back on him, Jack nods and puts his palm on his stomach. Bitty licks his lips and watches approvingly as Jack slides his hand from abs to pecs to— _ah—_ sensitive nipples. “Yeah,” Bitty murmurs, sucking a kiss to the inside of Jack’s thigh. “Good, baby. Just like that.”

 

It doesn’t take long after that. Bitty sucks him down again, moving faster this time, with much more intent and a lot less teasing until Jack’s hips are stuttering with the effort of not fucking himself down Bitty’s willing throat. He knows he can’t, that he’s not allowed unless they explicitly discuss it before, but _Crisse_ , he wants, and Bitty knows it, and Bitty is using it against him, the tease, sliding down until he can just swallow around the head of him before pulling all the way off and licking into his leaking slit.

 

Bitty’s free hand finds its way between Jack’s thighs, scooping up his balls and rolling them gently, so gently, as he swallows Jack down again and again and again until Jack is so desperate to come he wants to cry with it. Finally, finally Bitty takes pity on him: He slides his mouth down Jack’s length and presses two fingers firmly _just so_ against Jack’s perineum and Jack’s _gone_ , shuddering into Bitty’s mouth with a garbled shout of relief.

 

Bitty spits his mouthful of Jack’s cum out on the floor of the shower and beams up at Jack even as he wipes his chin off with the palm of his hand. “ _Perfect_ ,” Bitty hums, rubbing Jack’s thighs encouragingly, and Jack, though utterly spent, shivers with the thrill of Bitty’s praise. “So perfect for me, sweetheart. So good.”

 

Jack lets himself float on Bitty’s words and the afterglow of his orgasm for a few minutes before he comes back to earth. Bitty is watching him carefully, just like he always does, making sure Jack’s back with him before asking him to do anything too taxing, like, for instance, remembering his own name.

 

It’s easy to tug Bitty up off his knees, because Bitty comes willingly, standing between Jack’s legs and carding his fingers gently through Jack’s hair. “You’re so gorgeous,” Bitty tells him. Jack shakes his head slightly, demurring, but Bitty tightens his fingers in Jack’s hair, just enough to make sure that Jack can’t look anywhere but at him. (As if there’s anywhere Jack would rather be looking.)

 

“Look what you do to me, Jack. See that?” Jack can't help _but_ see it: how hard Bitty is, how turned on he gets just by touching Jack, making him come. He's more of a grower, but when he's turned on like this— _Crisse_ , his cock is _beautiful,_ thick and flushed, a slight curve to the shaft that makes Jack’s mouth water.

 

His hands find their way to Bitty’s hips, smoothing up and down the curve of his sides and down to grip the firm globes of his ass. For his part, Bitty keeps up the gentle stroking of his hand through Jack’s hair, watching Jack fondly with his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, and Jack just loves him.

 

He knows what he wants, what Bitty wants, but they’re not quite at the right height for it. He has to slouch down on the bench, splaying his legs even wider, but then it’s just a matter of using his lush handful of Bitty’s ass to coax Bitty to step in closer so Jack can finally, _finally_ get his mouth on him.

 

Bitty sighs happily as the hard length of his dick slips between Jack’s lips. Jack relaxes his jaw and goes pliant, giving Bitty a squeeze to let him know it’s okay. Bitty acknowledges it with an approving stroke to Jack’s head, then tightens his hand in Jack’s hair and flexes his hips until Jack’s nose is nestled in the tight thatch of curls at the base of his dick. He holds Jack there, dick a firm, insistent weight on Jack’s tongue, and Jack swallows around the head to make him moan.

 

“ _Ah_ , sweetheart, you’re so— _Lord_.” Bitty draws his hips back in one long, smooth motion before thrusting forward, making them both groan.

 

Jack loves this, loves the way Bitty’s hips stutter under his hands, loves the way his lips have to stretch around Bitty’s cock, loves the taste of precum on his tongue and the way, when Bitty bottoms out and Jack’s nose is buried in his pubes, its hard to breathe and everything smells of musk and sex and _Bitty_.

 

Once Bitty picks up the pace at Jack’s gentle encouragement—a few tugs at Bitty’s hips—it doesn’t take long before he’s coming with a gasp and a curse, pulsing over Jack’s tongue. He pulls back with the last shuddering spurts, painting Jack’s lips and chin with cum.

 

“ _Lord,_ ” Bitty gasps with a laugh, swiping his thumb over Jack’s bottom lip. “Okay, honey?”

 

“Yeah,” Jack croaks, tugging at Bitty’s hips again until Bitty gets the point and climbs into Jack’s lap. They kiss lazily for a while, Jack letting his hands run up and down Bitty’s back. Bitty draws back with one last lingering kiss and then laughs, a happy tinkling sound that echoes around the room. Jack grins up at him.

 

“Think _Bastian_ would do that for you?”

 

“Oh my _god_ , Ja-ack!” Bitty swats at him and climbs off his lap. “No, I do not, and I’m not about to ask either!” Jack chuckles and eases himself off the bench, catching Bitty around the waist and drawing him in for another kiss.

 

“Lord, we need a shower,” Bitty says, pulling away after a minute, though he lingers long enough to tiptoe up and press a quick kiss to the tip Jack’s nose. 

 

“ _Yes_ , dear,” Jack says, following Bitty obediently under the spray, laughing and ducking when Bitty swats at him again.

 

Later, towelled off and wrapped in a fluffy white robe, Bitty crawls up onto the frankly enormous bed and snuggles into Jack’s side. “Lord, I dunno about you, but if I can walk tomorrow it’ll be some kinda minor miracle.”

 

Jack laughs and presses a kiss into Bitty’s damp, clean hair. “We can always call Bastian and cancel our lessons, just hang out in the hotel.”

 

“What, and miss a whole day of you glaring and muttering French swears under your breath every time that poor boy tries to teach how to get down a hill without breaking my neck? Not in a million years, buster.”

 

“Ha, alright, alright, it was just a suggestion.”

 

Bitty presses a kiss to Jack’s neck. “You know I haven’t got eyes for anyone else, right, honey?”

 

“Yeah, Bits,” Jack murmurs, dipping his head to kiss that sweet little moue of his. “I know.”

 

“Good,” Bitty declares, beaming. “Because it’s true. Now, should we see if there’s anything in English on that gigantic TV?”

 

“Or they’ve got Zootopia on pay-per-view,” Jack offers. Bitty’s squeal of delight warms him better than any shower or sauna ever could. 

**Author's Note:**

> Don't try this at home, folks. Be safe with your in-sauna activities :D
> 
> PS. If you are looking to learn to ski but wish to avoid being in this much pain, I highly recommend snowboarding. Easier to learn, though do prepare to spend a lot of time falling on your ass for the first two days.


End file.
